


send a wish upon a star

by MaryPSue



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryPSue/pseuds/MaryPSue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd fought the night before he left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	send a wish upon a star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moiraabsinthe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moiraabsinthe/gifts).



> Happy Father's Day, everyone! :3
> 
> also, how do titles.

They’d fought the night before he left.

It’s become one of her greatest regrets, the memory that keeps her awake replaying through her mind, all the awful things she’d said, all the things she should have done differently. As the anniversary of his departure draws nearer, the whole galaxy gearing up for celebration, it comes back to her almost nightly.

She’d cried. She’d screamed. She’d flung her dinner plate at the wall. She’d thrown a tantrum that she’d been embarrassed of even while caught in its jaws, unable to peace, a tantrum like she hadn’t thrown since she was just little and his shore leave had ended too soon. Just as he had then, he’d remained unmoved, growing quieter and steelier with each new height of passion she reached. Just as it had then, his unbreakable self-control had only enraged her more.

“I’m sorry, Seraphina. But you know it’s the only way. If there’s any more than one person on guard, the Fearlings will turn them against each other. And it’s only until the Pooka figure out how to seal the prison up for good -”

This was where she’d stood, abruptly, nearly knocking over her chair. “I _know_. You’ve given me these excuses a _thousand_ times but it still doesn’t have to be _you_!”

Her father, damn him, had only stared back calmly. “Then who would you have me choose to go in my place? Who would you have me take from their home and their family, to stand guard in the back of beyond for Brightness only knows how long -”

“ _You_ have a family too!” She did knock over her chair, then. “Or have you already forgotten?”

“I know, Sera. I know.” He’d shown the first emotion she’d seen him betray since the dinner began, a terrible sadness that he’d quickly covered by taking a long drink of his wine. “That’s why I have to do this. Someday you’ll have children of your own, and maybe then you’ll understand.”

She couldn’t find words for a few short eternities, and the frustration at being struck speechless on top of everything else may have been why she swept her arm across the table, dashing everything set in front of her to the floor in a symphony of smashes. Her father had simply stared into his wine glass, as though he hadn’t heard or seen anything, and she’d screamed at his unwillingness to just _listen_.

“ _Fine_! Then go and play the martyr again and leave me _alone_ just like you _always do_!” Her vision had blurred, and she’d thumped her fist against the table both to try to get his attention and for something to focus on rather than the prickle in her eyes. “If you really wanted to get away from me so badly, you should have just run off a _long_ time ago.”

She hadn’t given him time to respond, not that he would have. She’d simply turned on her heel and swept out, feeling sharp stabs of selfish guilt with every crackle and crunch of glass beneath her feet.

…

What she always forgets, when she lies awake reliving the worst parts, is what happened later.

She’d been half-asleep, spent from her rage and the tears that had followed, when she’d heard her father’s heavy footsteps in the hall. She’d been certain they’d pass by, carry on towards the huge, empty collection of chambers where her mother used to sleep, but instead, he had stopped at her door. She’d burrowed a little deeper into the covers, hiding her face, and heard him sigh before his boots, muffled by the plush carpet, had crossed the room to her bed.

She hadn’t dared to move. Hadn’t dared to breathe until she felt the side of her bed dip, the springs groaning under his added weight. He’d fussed with the blankets for a moment, tucking them close around her shoulders, before he’d started to sing.

No one would ever call her father’s singing voice angelic, or lovely, or even any good. He’s more used to shouting orders, and he carries a sword far better than he can carry a tune. But she wouldn’t have wanted anyone else there, then, singing a lullaby she hadn’t heard in years, even if it had been slightly flat and dotted with the occasional sour note. Neither of them have ever been much good at apologies, but there had been an understanding there, in the close warm _safe_ dark of her bedroom; he will always be her father, she will always be his daughter, and there are no harsh words or long absences that can ever change that.

The next morning, she’d had to wish him goodbye in front of the whole city, had to watch him sail away into the dark between the stars for what could very well be the last time.

All around her, the city celebrates the victory that delivered them from fear, the sacrifice that keeps them all safe, and the hope for another year free from the half-forgotten scourges of the Golden Age. Alone in the sprawling villa, Seraphina Pitchiner raises a glass in a silent toast. She does not search the skies for a shooting star on which to place her one strongest, most selfish wish; that this will be the year that her father comes safely home to her for good.


End file.
